


sitting by the fountain

by dvntldr



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Background Nanami Chiaki, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Komaeda Nagito is Good at Giving Advice, Tired Hinata Hajime, U DECIDE, but he knows he feels Something, but maybe he also feels that around nagito, idk nagito is lowkey ooc in dis to me but whatever, idk u can choose to ship komahina here if u want, it’s not explicitly stated that they may/may not like each other, just vibes yanno u choose, last three are just mentioned - Freeform, no beta we die like men, this whole fic is mostly abt hajime not knowing wtf he feels for chiaki, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvntldr/pseuds/dvntldr
Summary: hajime thinks about chiaki a lot.nagito does too.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime & Nanami Chiaki, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Nanami Chiaki, Komaeda Nagito & Nanami Chiaki
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	sitting by the fountain

hajime still thinks about chiaki sometimes.

he can’t help it, really. it’s completely involuntary most of the time—he smells strawberries and cream and his first thought is automatically of her, her sunny smile and her soft laughter and the way she always leaned in close to him whenever they watched the sun set together, so close but not touching. he sees nori and remembers the little lunchboxes she used to pack him whenever she had the time, the little snacks she knew he liked, the bright yellow post-it with a smiley-face pasted on top of it. everything reminds him of her, subtly, and it’s torture. 

sometimes it’s on purpose, though. sometimes, hajime finally reaches his cottage after a long, tiring day, heavy, oily tendrils coiling up in the pit of his stomach, and only has to make eye-contact with the rocketship pin on his dresser to burst into tears that have been pent-up for far too long.

it’s not the real one, of course. izuru kamukura had kept it, but even someone as brilliant as him couldn’t protect something so innocent and sentimental from the clutches of despair. the real pin is long gone, somewhere scattered among the remains of most of civilisation. this phony pin he’d worked tirelessly to make and perfect, his multiple Ultimate talents all locking in (and as uncooperative as izuru usually is, he at least helps hajime with this—why he doesn’t know. maybe he too remembers the girl sitting by the fountain) to make sure the replica is just as accurate as the real deal, down to the minute details thanks to izuru’s perfect recall.

he doesn’t know whether he had loved her. he thinks he  _ could  _ have loved her, eventually. chiaki had been such an easy person to love, really; she gave and she gave and she gave and she never took, even if it cost her life. 

she was just always  _ there  _ whenever he wanted her to be, always there when he needed her most. now, mostly rid of the ghost of old emotions, he knows it’s also because it was her duty as an npc. but he remembers the way she held him silently as he cried for his dead friends, remembers her constant support of him even in the face of overwhelming despair...remembers the quiet girl who sat by the fountain, playing her nintendo switch. 

it’s hard to let go, even now. they’ve been out of the simulation for three months, eighteen days and two hours, and still he thinks about her.

the rest of them have moved on, for lack of a better word. makoto had sent droves of therapists and doctors and psychologists to jabberwock island during that first month, and slowly but surely they had all started healing. 

mikan is much more assertive, teruteru no longer resorts to overcompensation to cover up his insecurities, hiyoko’s learnt to curb her sharp tongue, and even nagito is improving bit by bit. despite all their progress, though, it feels like they’re all leaving the memory of chiaki behind as they get better, desperate to bury the memories of the simulation. it’s not that hajime doesn’t understand why they need to do that for their own self-betterment, not at all—it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s so  _ easy  _ for them.

but of course, none of them had ever been as close to chiaki as him. she’d spent the most time with him outside of class activities during their school years, and even in the simulation she had always been by his side, a solid, reassuring presence he’d always trusted implicitly. she had been his friend the way he had been hers, he hopes; someone permanent.

he just doesn’t know what to do without her.

“hajime?” 

“come in.” his voice sounds so dead even to his own ears. nagito enters, shutting the cottage door behind him with his elbow. in the dim lighting, his hair spills out over his shoulders like a blazing halo. he holds a tray holding pancakes that are stacked haphazardly on top of each other and a tall glass of orange juice. 

“i got you food. you didn’t come to dinner, so i figured you’d be hungry.” the white-haired male sits down on the chair by his bed, setting the tray down on the side of the queen-sized mattress that hajime isn’t currently occupying. 

hajime snorts at the irony. “you got me pancakes to eat at nine in the evening?” nagito looks a tiny bit sheepish, shrugging a little. 

“you like pancakes.” 

obligingly, he reaches for the orange juice first, chugging it quickly. he hadn’t realised how hungry he had been. he finishes his whole meal before nagito speaks again.

“what’s wrong?”

hajime pauses. he considers lying, but…

“i was thinking about chiaki,” he admits hesitantly, her name tasting like ash and blood in his mouth, coming out as slow as sludge with the consistency of molasses. nagito nods thoughtfully at his words, no judgement in his eyes as he places the now empty tray on the table. 

“i think about her often too,” nagito says readily. hajime feels himself bristle defensively, but the other boy doesn’t see it, already barrelling on with his next sentence. “she was always nice to me. the others, they were cruel. i understood it, accepted it, welcomed the vitrol and insults even, but she was  _ always  _ kind. she used to let me play super smash brothers with her after school and she helped me with my homework. she used to share her chocolate croissants with me, too. all melty and buttery, just like her.”

his anger had escalated to a boil so quickly, ready to snarl at nagito for trying to make hajime’s misery all about himself; but then, it all evaporates in an instant, left only with bittersweet nostalgia. he can easily picture chiaki and nagito hunched over nintendo switches after school, their bags slung over their chairs, can hear chiaki’s gentle explanation of the rules and nagito’s overeager babbling already. “chiaki was like that,” he agrees with a nod. “chiaki was kind to everyone, regardless of what anybody else thought. she was...impossibly, hopelessly selfless, always, no matter the cost.”

nagito bobs his head affirmatively, looking incredibly relieved at his lack of a negative reaction, and hajime’s heart squeezes—he hadn’t even thought about how her death would be affecting nagito, considering he’d indirectly ended her second chance at life. 

“she used to give me hugs. just a hug, for no reason, at random times. she’d hug me, like that—“ nagito reaches for him and hajime doesn’t move, letting the other student’s thin arms snake ‘round his waist and squeeze lightly. “—and then she’d smile—“  _ yes,  _ hajime remembers her smile; it’s a constant constellation at the back of his eyelids, a permanent tattoo he refuses to be rid of, “—and she’d tell me everything was going to be okay, and that when it wasn’t okay she’d be there for me until it became okay again.” 

“she always gave me her last brownie,” hajime adds, and starts to cry. nagito sighs gently into his shoulder, quietly commiserating, and they sit there until his sobs die out and his eyes dry. 

“i miss her,” he presses the back of his hand to his wet eyes. a weak shudder runs through his body—he feels like his lungs have been pulled inside-out. “why did she have to die? out of everyone, why  _ her?” _

“i don’t know, hajime,” nagito murmurs softly. “i don’t know.”

somewhere, a giant clock chimes midnight. it’s the start of a new day.

“i don’t want to forget her,” he says, clenching his fists so tight his nails dig rudely into his palms. “i don’t care what anybody else says, nagito, you hear me? i don’t care how many  _ stupid  _ therapists tell me to let go, i don’t care if they drag me into a torture chamber kicking and screaming, i don’t care if the future foundation sees me as a liability and kills me off. i don’t  _ care.  _ i  _ won’t _ forget her.” 

nagito’s eyes are softer in this singular moment than he’s ever seen them, hajime thinks distantly. 

“you don’t have to forget her to move on, hajime,” he responds in a half-whisper, like it’s a secret, and the reserve course student deflates against the other male immediately. “what do you think chiaki would say if she saw you now?”

“she’d call me stupid and tell me to go level up more,” he snaps without thought, and nagito lets out a little amused huff. much softer, he adds, “she’d tell me to stop moping around so much and to start actively seeking my own happiness because i deserve it.” 

nagito smiles, just a little, and it abruptly reminds him of waking up to a pair of curious grey-green eyes staring down at him. “i know i’m no good substitute and that i can’t interpret her feelings on this at all, but. i personally think she’s quite right.”

hajime lets go of the white-haired boy and sinks back into his own pillows, exhaling. “it’s not that easy,” he says, and then quickly feels stupid for saying that to  _ nagito  _ of all people. “i’m bad at being happy. i always mess it up whenever i have a chance at it.”

“you do realise you’re saying that to the ultimate lucky student, right?” nagito arches a brow before getting up off the bed. “and i think we’re all pretty bad at being happy, honestly. so let’s all be bad at being happy together and maybe it’ll be just a little easier to be happy each time, just a little less draining if we have each other to fall back on. okay?” 

nagito turns to leave without waiting for a reply. hajime’s eyes fall on the rocketship pin once more, but this time instead of the familiar self-hatred and intense, soul-crushing guilt, it’s just. hope. and he thinks chiaki would be happy to know that she’d brought him hope, even when she wasn’t here to hand-deliver it herself.

“okay,” he says to himself, and goes to bed.

—

somewhere, an extremely long time ago, very far away, a girl waits for a boy by the fountain.

**Author's Note:**

> help idk what to say here
> 
> kudos & comments fuel me 🙏


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